Every day I work hard to remind myself that I’m not my father, and now, he’s telling me that the one thing I want, children, might end up… I can’t even finish that thought.
“I’m sorry, Ley,” his voice is soft, his body is so close to mine that I can feel his warmth dissolving the fear. “I…you know I lash out with stupidities when I’m upset. I didn’t mean what I just said. This is a hard limit, babe. I know you’re pissed, and I should’ve told you about it. I never meant to hurt you, and now I’m not sure how to fix this—us.”
When I open my eyes, he’s right in front of me. His green eyes are filled with pain. I wish he would tell me more. I’m unsure if I should push him or give us options and a little hope to fix us.
I choose the latter. “What if we adopt?”
He takes a step back, and his jaw twitches. “Okay, this is the part where I have to be hard with you. I love you like I’ve never loved anyone, but if you ask for a kid one more time, this is over.”
“You know how I feel?” I mumble. “Like I’ve spent almost three years of my life with a stranger.”
I can’t help myself and start crying, because this is how it ends, and how is it possible that I never noticed that we don’t have anything. “Can we even call this a marriage?”
“Of course, we can,” he answers. “Please, don’t cry, babe. You’re killing me here. I…why are we discussing this nonsense when you know me so well. You’re the only person who knows me.”
No, I don’t, and I don’t even know if I’m in love with you.
I’m in love with the illusion of the Pierce I met years ago. But this guy… Who are you?
We stare at each other for a very long time. My heart is hurting, and I don’t have anything to say that will fix us. It’s like the bubble suddenly burst, and we’re back into a reality where we shouldn't be together.
He confirms my thoughts when he says, “I have work to do. I just came to change and tell you that I might not be back until Tuesday. We have a big case.”
I stare at him for a moment before turning around and going to the dining room to clean up the uneaten food. It was prepared with love for a couple who was supposed to be happily celebrating their life together. Then I wonder, what happened to us?
Chapter Twelve
Leyla
Why did we get married?
It seemed like the right decision at the time. No, that’s a terrible answer. Immaturity, fear of being alone, endorphins…I find plenty of excuses but not a concrete answer.
Did we marry because we don’t know how to be happy and trusted the other one to do the job?
These are some of the multiple questions and theories I have.
Some days I feel we had a two-year party, and he left me behind cleaning up the mess. Others, I call our relationship a charade. My expectations included love, a family, and forever. I assume Pierce wanted to be happy.
When did I stop making him happy?
Was he ever happy with me?
Was that my job, to keep us together and not disturb the balance or disappoint him?
Why am I blaming myself for whatever happened between us?
What are we supposed to do now?
Our real feelings, aspirations, and everything we hope for our future are out in the open. Maybe I shouldn’t be saying we. It seems like he has no expectations. We’re back to that arrangement we had at the beginning. You have your life, I have mine, let’s meet at night. But it was never like that. We always found the time to be with each other. We loved without reserve. We cherished each other.
That was then. This is now.
This new reality is eating me alive. Dealing with every thought, feeling, and meltdown going on inside my head by myself is hard. The one person I’d trust to hold me during this awful time is Pierce, but he’s part of the problem.
I'm so angry with him. I’m sad because I haven’t felt this lost in so long. I’m furious about us and what will never be.
We’re not even fighting with each other. Pierce isn’t acknowledging me or whatever happened between us that night. How ironic that it happened on the day of our anniversary.
Why am I not surprised about the turn of events? When things look too good to be true, it’s not real.
Our relationship developed too fast. It aligned perfectly. I heard the right words. He made the right moves and just blinded me with that one thing I’ve wanted since my mom died. Love.
A love that wasn’t even real.
God, I was so naïve.
I can’t fathom how my life will be without him, but should I even try to fix us? How can I fix something that never existed?
When I sit down to write what makes me mad, to try to figure out why I’m so miserable, the conclusion is pretty obvious. He doesn’t care enough to work this out. He wrote us off, and he’s not even telling me about it.
I’m not dismissing everything that happened between us, but the beginning of us is what troubles me the most. I’m so upset at him for everything, and the baby…well, that was such a nasty Bryant move—he’s not so different from his family. It was misleading, dishonest, and pure betrayal.
He knew I was trying to get pregnant. He could’ve just told me, “Don’t fool yourself. It’s never going to happen.”
Why not tell me about his expectations before we married?
I’m furious at myself because I don’t trust people easily. Why did I trust him?
Marriage is supposed to be forever. Or until death do us part—not literally, like my parents.
Our relationship is hard to catalogue. Was it all fake?
It doesn’t matter. All I want is to hurt him, which is probably immature, but how can he continue living as if nothing happened? A category five tornado destroyed our lives, and he’s behaving as if it’s business as usual.
A part of me wants to make him as miserable as I am.
Two weeks pass without us speaking to each other. We went from casual roommates to strangers after our confrontation. At night, I wonder where he’s staying and if he ever loved me. Maybe he didn’t, and the infatuation is over. That’s why he avoids coming to the house. Does he have a mistress?
It is sad that I hope he does because then I get to keep the kids when he leaves me. I don’t know what he has in his trust, and I really wouldn’t care if I get it or not. I have plenty of money from another coldhearted man who just used my mother as a punching bag.
During my free time, I research about adopting a baby. It turns out that if I foster to adopt, it might be a lot easier. Also, married couples get preference over a divorcée. God, am I already thinking about the divorce? Is that too premature?
I look around the empty house and realize that I’m fooling myself by sticking around. We are over.
We’ve been over for a long time.
When I look at Buster and Daisy, I wonder if bringing a kid might change Pierce’s mind. We could adopt or at least foster some children. There are four empty bedrooms upstairs that could be filled with the laughter of kids who need love.
But would it change anything?
I could adopt a dozen kids, but that won’t make him love me.
The fleeting infatuation he had for me never changed from anything more than just lust and desire.
A small voice inside me asks, what if he’s scared, and that’s why he’s running away from us?
If only I knew who this Carter guy was…maybe his boyfriend? Pierce could be bisexual, and he’s trying to block that part of his life. Well, now I’m turning this into a drama.
“Why won’t you talk to me?” I scream, and my voice echoes all through the empty house.
It’s lonely and cold, like my heart.
Just like Pierce’s attitude toward me.
Similar to a sad January winter, ironically this is an unseasonable week in June. Muggy, cold, and dark.
For a long time, I can’t bring myself to think that this is over, but I can only lie to myself for so long. Today is the day I confr
ont him and turn the page. We either finish this sentence and start a new paragraph with a brighter beginning, or we close the book of us forever.
So, I wait for him in the living room, which is very close to the house entrance. His eyes find mine the moment he steps in the foyer. It’s way past midnight. He bows his head as he takes off his shoes.
“Can we talk?” I ask.
“As long as you don’t bring up the subject of having a child,” he states.
“What’s the point of being married?” I ask.
“We wouldn’t be the only couple without a kid.” His voice is forceful.
“You could’ve told me before. We could’ve discussed it years ago,” I argue. “I’m so angry at you and myself. I have come to realize that we never speak about anything important. Our plans go as far as the next vacation or what we’re having for dinner.”
I huff. My eyes narrow slightly when I realized this conversation should’ve happened a long time ago.
“That was before, when we would spend some time together,” I amend. “I’m not blaming you for everything that’s happening. It’s my fault too. I let you get away with vague responses and deflection. We acted out of infatuation. There’s nothing tangible between us.”
“That’s the conclusion you came up with because I don’t want a fucking baby. You dismiss three years together because you’re not getting your picket-fenced-two-point-six-children suburbia dream,” he argues. “I’m tired and not in the mood for a round of nonsense, Leyla.”
Being with a lawyer for so long has taught me one important thing. He knows how to twist, switch, and change the narrative.
“No, what I get out of it is almost three years of living with a man who likes to avoid important subjects,” I answer. “The kid is just the last drop in this little charade that we call our lives. You didn’t give me an option to decide if I wanted to marry you despite your life choices.”
He runs his fingers through his hair. His expression morphs into despair, but it’s gone immediately. I hate when he uses his lawyer in the middle of court manners. “What if you chose not to be with me?”
My hands move to my hips. I stare at him with rage and disappointment. I want to yell at him. The air around me steams with anger. My gaze averts to where the door is, and I wonder if he’s going to leave or if we’ll be able to finish this conversation. For the sake of fixing something, I breathe deeply and calm myself.
“It’s not normal to impose relationships, Pierce. You trust yourself. You trust our love, most importantly,” I say without raising my voice, which is so hard. “You trust me.”
“People leave,” he says with such bitterness. I wonder who left him. “I’m not a choice, Leyla.”
So many things pop into my head. Who left him? Why didn’t I notice he’s broken and afraid? Did he stay with me because I’m broken too, and I wouldn’t pack and leave?
Am I here because I’m alone and too damaged to find happiness?
Why are you with me?
Do you remember what we promised each other when we got married?
Do you know what real love looks like?
Love is not giving you a promotion if you dedicate all your time to the company. Love is not deceiving the woman you want to be with, just so she won’t leave you.
I ask for too little. Honesty is one of those few things I needed from him, and now…
But I don’t say or ask anything out loud because I see it clearly for the first time. The past three years have been a fantasy powered by infatuation and great sex. The desire is gone. The rose colored glasses are gone, and what or who we hid is clear for everyone to see.
What does he see in me?
A lonely woman in need of a family and love.
I stare at my hand, where the thin gold band we exchanged two years ago sits. Buying the rings in a hurry at the jewelry store, Pierce said, “Anything will do. It doesn’t matter.”
It mattered to me. He just never cared. There was no real proposal. The only promise he made was to buy me a solitaire ring—he never did. We never exchanged vows. Those silly to hold and to cherish words were never a part of this marriage.
We have nothing to keep us together.
Tears form in my eyes, but I’m fighting them back because what’s the point of crying. Our problems go soul deep. My resentment grows.
I wanted a lot more than a trip to the DMV.
I wanted promises, dreams, and the declaration of love between us.
We never promised forever. We didn’t swear to love one another despite our flaws.
When I look at him, all I see is a man who doesn’t have the patience to listen to my needs, to share his heart, or be the man I fell in love with.
He’s the guy I thought I’d love for the rest of my life, but I don’t recognize him anymore.
“Did you even want to get married?” My stomach drops when I realize that the words left my mouth.
It’s supposed to be another silent question.
“I never wanted a wife,” he responds without hesitation.
The words are an arrow shot directly into my heart. It explodes inside my chest. The shards fall to the ground. This moment is just as bad as having your husband shoot you. The anger, the pain, and the loss are sucking out the strength I have left in me.
I’m enraged with myself because I should’ve stopped this a long time ago. There are many scenarios on how I can handle this situation—the end.
I grab onto the anger. Make it my mission to inflict the pain I’m feeling. I promise myself that he’ll be as miserable as I am until I feel satisfied. Or until I’m done grieving.
He’s right. Everyone leaves. As always, I’m the one left behind.
“Why am I even bothering to have a conversation with you?” I lash the question. “Why am I here? You played me. You made me believe that you loved me above everything, and I loved you with the same intensity. In reality, nothing is holding us together.”
He studies me. My heart restarts, hopeful that he might say something like I’m wrong or he’s sorry. That this is a growing pain, and this can’t be the end.
“I’ll have Nyx file for divorce,” he says with a cold voice.
I hear a voice in my head speaking clearly, he never loved you.
I hate everything that has been falling into place for the past two weeks. All the pieces of a puzzle I refused to see.
Deep down, he never loved me.
What am I supposed to do now with all the love I accumulated since I met him?
What’s going to happen to our little boy? I imagined him with Pierce’s deep green eyes and a mischievous smile. He’d be up to no good, but just as loving as his dad. My little girl is never going to exist either. She was going to have him wrapped around her little finger.
My family just disappeared again. He blew it into a million pieces. I’m wounded and bleeding. At least he can’t see my injuries. It’ll take time to fix myself and to find a new path. Wait, there’s still some hope to have a family. I won’t let him go until I have what I want.
“No,” I say firmly. “I won’t sign it.”
“What’s the point of being together?”
“We’re doing this at my pace,” I declare, pretending I can be as cold and calculating as he is, and I even warn him, “Just remember if I catch you screwing another woman, the kids are mine.”
“I’m too busy for this nonsense or to deal with your games,” he states.
He’s confusing me with his family. They are the ones who play with him.
“I’m moving out tomorrow.”
“You can stay. This is your house. I’ll leave,” he disagrees, rubbing a hand over his chest.
I shake my head. “I can’t be in this house. There are too many memories, too many lies, too much of an us that was never real. It’ll kill me, or if I’m not strong enough I…”
I don’t say more because what’s the point of reminding him that my psyche is a mess even when I seem normal?
/> He decided to outline our story, but I’m the one who will write the end.
Chapter Thirteen
Leyla
The first months after my separation, I am a mess. The nights are the worst. Either I can’t sleep or I have nightmares. Pierce and I are barely civil with one another. However, we handle our children’s custody well enough. I visit Poppy, Alistair, and Ally, our alpaca, daily. Buster and Daisy stay with me every other week.
Exchanging our dogs presents a few issues. Sometimes Pierce is not home when I drop them off, and I have to take them to my place. He gets pissed because he doesn’t have time to change his schedule. Other times, I’m busy when he tries to pick them up. The fights we have are filled with hatred, resentment, and lust.
There might not be love, but the static electricity between our bodies still exists. The product of the tension between us is deep, angry kisses. They might end our fights, but they leave us worked up and ready for the next battle.
This has to stop. We need to find another way to exchange the kids. The thought of finding a better way to mediate our issues leaves my mind almost immediately after I promise myself that it’ll never happen again.
It does.
Then, my mother’s birthday—the anniversary of the tragedy—happens, and he’s at my apartment wanting to know if I’m okay. I lash out because he has no right to worry about me. It’s probably not the best argument, but my mind is struggling.
This time the angry kisses become angry sex that lasts all night long. Or at least until I’m so tired I fall asleep, and he leaves without saying goodbye.
I wake up with a hangover even though I didn’t drink a drop of alcohol. The emptiness leaves me so weak I stay in bed for two days.
That’s the power of Pierce. He makes me forget, and then I feel a million times worse than I did before I was with him. That week I finally fire my therapist. I don’t blame her for my behavior. I do it because she hasn’t helped me in a long time.
Instead of finding just another counselor, I research other PTSD approaches and find Eye Movement Desensitization therapy. I keep up with my meditation, yoga, and add a life coaching therapist too. It doesn’t stop me from doing stupid things, like sleeping with my husband when we’re angry at each other, but at least I don’t feel like I’m dying after I do.
Defying Our Forever (The Baker’s Creek Billionaire Brothers Book 3) Page 8
